Eight Statues
by pacejunkie
Summary: Missing scenes from Exodus II through FireWater. How Charlie collected his stash of Virgin Mary statues.


**Title:** Eight Statues

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Pairing:** Charlie/smack

**Summary: **Missing scenes from Exodus II through Fire+Water. How Charlie collected his stash of Virgin Mary statues.

**Warnings:** drug references but no actual drug use

**Disclaimer: **Lost? Mine? Ha ha ha ha ha ha….

**The First Statue**

"The plane was loaded with heroin."

Charlie watched as Sayid tossed the statue and the Virgin Mary sailed through the air like an angel with wings, crashing to earth with a delicate shatter at his feet. It lay open before him, despoiled, exposing the secret drug inside. His drug. Although Charlie had been clean for over a month now, he would always think of it as his drug, because no matter what he did from this time forward, it had become a part of him, like a limb or a vital organ. He might refrain from using for the rest of his life but he would never be free of it.

Sayid had tossed it to him so carelessly, clearly it meant nothing to him, but to Charlie, he only had to glance at the small bags of brown powder to be transported back to his heavenly hell. He started to salivate like some Pavlovian dog. Three years of his life spent living for nothing but the next fix and here it was again. It had been weeks since he'd last seen any but it may as well have been yesterday. He never stopped wanting it.

Sayid turned his back, said it was time to move on but Charlie remained still, body frozen apart from his fingers twitching madly and a cold shiver running down his back. Rationally, he knew his priority was to rescue Claire's baby but his feet were encased in cement. His pulse slowed in a cheap imitation of a high. He closed his eyes for an instant and rode the sensation out. He wanted it. He didn't want it. The baggies scared him. Out in the open, they were too real, as easy as a prostitute. He needed a protective barrier between himself and the heroin.

He looked over at the statues littering the ground near the plane. Sealed inside the Madonna, the drugs seemed less sinful somehow, almost chaste. Before Sayid could get suspicious, Charlie quickly grabbed one of the statues from the ground and stuffed it into his bag. With renewed strength, he turned to follow Sayid and resume the task of heroism.

Later that night in the caves, Claire inspected the statue in her hands with idle curiosity while Charlie played with Aaron. "What's this?"

"Oh. I found it in the jungle" said Charlie, calmly, skillfully, while inside his brain screamed, _Get it back!_

Claire passed him the statue with some comment about being religious that Charlie shrugged off. He took it from her, exhaling quietly at the feel of the rough, crude plaster under his fingertips. He then quickly tucked it back inside his bag, fearing that if Claire noticed how he stared at the thing she would suspect it was more than a statue.

Charlie couldn't sleep that night. His head wound raged with a fiery itch that drove him mad, while inside another, older, more familiar itch was returning. Heroin was a painkiller, virtually identical to morphine. He had the power to make his pain go away, and there was now such a vast quantity on the island he wouldn't have to worry about running out for a long, long time. He really was in terrible pain; he'd never be able to sleep. It all sounded so logical, but he knew he couldn't. He had to fight this.

Charlie decided he wouldn't go back to that plane. He didn't want to leave Claire and Aaron again after what they had all been through. Besides, if he ever went back there alone, he feared there would be nothing to stop him from using. His mind raced with possibility, options, urges. Charlie put the bag under his head and tried to use it like a pillow to fall asleep, the heroin so close he thought it could induce a contact high.

As he pretended to sleep, he felt Claire's hand on his head, gentle fingers like butterfly wings. Eyes shut tight, he was trembling slightly. Claire spoke softly, her words as soothing as her touch. "Poor thing. Does it hurt that bad?"

She had no idea. At that moment, she and Aaron were the only things keeping him sane, compelling him to behave. He finally slept in fits.

Two days passed and Charlie attempted to carry on normally. In a way it was getting easier. The statue in his bag now felt comfortable, routine, its presence alone satisfying enough most of the time. In a way it was also getting harder. The energy required to hold onto the statue but resist using the drugs inside was beginning to wear at him and it showed.

Despite his thinning patience, Charlie decided he needed to be around people. His friends could provide a distraction, cutting down on the time he spent alone with his thoughts. He offered to watch the baby so Claire could take daily breaks. Charlie discovered that holding the baby in the sling, feeling Aaron's warmth and slow heartbeat against his chest had a soothing effect like the drug and it helped ease his cravings. The arrangement made everyone happy, since it allowed him to help Claire and secretly help himself at the same time.

While he was out walking with Aaron he spotted Hurley on the beach, washing out a shirt in the ocean. Charlie had wanted to talk to Hurley since his friend had returned from the hatch they had found in the jungle. Hurley was the closest thing Charlie had to a friend on the island. He was like someone you could get into trouble with in the real world and have the time of your life. Charlie had even trusted Hurley enough to confide in him about his heroin addiction.

Charlie asked him about the hatch but Hurley was being strangely evasive. He refused to make eye contact or speak in full, coherent sentences. He was the worst liar Charlie had ever seen. At any other time it would have been comical, but this time Charlie responded by unconsciously clutching the sleeping baby in the sling a bit tighter, wound up like a spring, a shadow creeping across his face.

This was not the time for Hurley to cut him out of the loop. It wasn't the details of the hatch that were so important; it was the thought of losing one of his connections when a large amount of heroin was within reach. He needed a reason to behave every minute of the day. When he saw he was getting nowhere, Charlie snapped at Hurley impatiently and stormed off quickly in search of another attachment to anchor him.

He walked back across the beach with heavy steps competing with his thoughts to weigh him down. Then he spied Claire, stepping out of the jungle with Shannon. Claire should have been returning from her walk but instead the two women were talking about something, with matching expressions of gravity on their young faces. Claire hardly ever spoke to Shannon and the strange alliance made Charlie curious. When he got closer he noticed they had been speaking in hushed tones. They stopped talking and stared at Charlie as soon as he approached.

Shannon touched Claire's arm lightly and made purposeful eye contact transmitting some silent message through the air. "I'll talk to you later." Claire nodded as the message was received and Shannon cut a hasty retreat.

Charlie watched her go. "What was that about? Did anything happen on your walk today?"

Claire hesitated, then twisted a long strand of yellow hair between two fingers. "No, nothing. Why do you ask?"

_Another poor liar._ Charlie searched her face. Either his paranoia was growing or she was hiding something too, and she and Shannon sure seemed to be acting suspiciously. "I was just wondering what you were doing with Shannon." He only realized after he said it that it sounded like he was being possessive.

Claire shook her head and shrugged, "Just girl talk. You wouldn't be interested."

It didn't look like girl talk to him. It felt more like another circle he wasn't privy to. After his encounter with Hurley, Charlie was already feeling insecure. Claire's secrecy only made it worse. _I'm losing them. They're pulling away from me. _

_Secrets_, thought Charlie, _I could keep secrets too_. Charlie's thoughts wandered back to the plane. He was losing his grip on the things he had assumed he could rely on. He felt adrift, the sand suddenly turning to water beneath his feet. In that instant he needed to know that the heroin was still out there. Now that the danger of the Others and Aaron's kidnapping had passed, Charlie wanted to get back to that plane. The familiar itch grew inside him, making his skin crawl. His brain felt like it was attached to the site by a fishing line that was slowly reeling him in.

His attachments failing him, Charlie reluctantly handed a still sleeping Aaron carefully back to Claire, the raising of the final anchor as his arms felt empty and light. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you later."

Without waiting for a response from Claire he abruptly grabbed his bag from their tent and drifted off into the jungle, in search of a different kind of anchor.

**The Second Statue**

Charlie arrived back at the plane crash site and stood for a moment in awe. He was gazing at his own little island red light district, a tabernacle of sin. Hypnotized by the enormous cache of drugs, he knew that each of the dozens of statues before him contained several bags. He had never seen so much heroin in his life. He dropped to his knees in abject devotion, humbled by the sight.

Still, he was torn. If only it were simple, but it wasn't just about him anymore. Charlie had Claire and Aaron now and he didn't want to screw that up. It was Claire that had given Charlie the strength to toss his last stash into the fire in the first place. She may not have known it then, but to Charlie, Claire had represented stability, a real future. It was something he'd never known but desperately wanted--someone who needed him, someone to live for.

There was a time when he lived for his brother Liam, but Liam never really needed him like he pretended to. Liam needed heroin, adoration and himself. Later, he cleaned up and abandoned Charlie for his brand new family. Charlie needed to find his own future, but at the time he was too full of self pity over the mess that his life had become. He crawled under a rock with his smack and sank deeper into oblivion.

Charlie still remembered the pain that went with the pleasure of his addiction. His soul still bore the scars of the humiliations he had suffered in exchange for a fix when money got tight. In addition to satisfying his need, the reward served the purpose of helping him to forget, if only temporarily, but sin always carried a heavy price.

Even though money was clearly no longer an issue here, Charlie was familiar enough with the untold dangers to know he didn't want to return to that life. He didn't want to use any now. He just wanted to look at it, hold it maybe. No harm in that. He picked up the nearest statue within reach and studied it. The Madonna's face bore an expression that was both compassionate and vacant. It was as if the statue itself were high on the drug it had ingested and it chilled him. His body shivered, remembering the high, throwing logic and good sense to the wind.

Charlie held the statue upright in his lap with both hands, gripped the porcelain tightly and closed his eyes in deep concentration, trying to evoke the sensation of a rush. After a moment he shuddered as a sensual vibration coated his body with warmth. Just holding the heroin and thinking about it made him feel better. There were plenty of things on the island he wished he could forget; fear that tore holes in his stomach and times he had never wanted to feel anything again. What a blessing to find real comfort. Charlie opened his eyes. He felt spent, like he had just been gratified.

Charlie realized this might be the ticket, the solution to his problem. He wouldn't actually have to use it; he could just keep it close and touch it once in a while. He took the statue and stowed it in his bag with the first one, where they rested side by side like evil twins. The plane site was too far. He needed to find a place to hide it closer to camp; somewhere he could go when things got crazy. Charlie knew he couldn't keep both statues in his bag. He could never explain to Claire why he had two of the bloody things. He wasn't sure he understood it himself but he was doing it anyway. All he knew was that if one felt good, two felt better.

Halfway back to camp Charlie searched until he found a large old tree with deep crevices between its roots. It was perfect--easy to conceal something inside, and yet distinctive enough that he would find it again. He removed one statue from his bag and placed it in one of the cracks, covering it with leaves lovingly like he was tucking in a child for the night. He kept the statue's sister in his bag to keep it even closer, wanting to preserve the security he had grown accustomed to in the past few days.

Charlie headed back to the beach with the bag across his shoulder, feeling the weight of the statue inside press against his back like a caress. He stopped suddenly when he spotted Locke through the trees, walking in the jungle. Charlie ducked down to hide from view. He remembered the hatch and the information he had failed to obtain from Hurley. Maybe Locke was headed there now. He decided to follow him to see if Locke would lead him to it.

He moved slowly, trying to match Locke's footfalls with his own to avoid discovery, but Locke was too skilled a hunter. "You can come out now!"

Charlie didn't even bother to pretend but just walked out of the bushes, slightly ashamed, shoulders slumped in defeat. Not surprisingly, Locke asked Charlie why he was following him. The question was the match that lit the fuse.

He didn't mean to lose his temper, but Charlie was feeling a touch guilty over what he had been doing in the jungle and couldn't get his mind off his own secret. He turned his frustrations around on Locke and exploded, with no attempt to hide the hurt. "Yeah. Quite simply John, there are a lot of secrets around here, and I'm tired of being at the bloody kids' table!"

Locke listened expressionless, unfazed by Charlie's outburst. He waited patiently until Charlie was finished and then offered to tell him anything he wanted to know. The story of the hatch, the button and the mysterious occupant was almost too much for Charlie to process, but what really got his attention was the revelation of the food. _So that was what Hurley was doing there._ They had found a storage closet full of food and Hurley was put in charge of it. _Well, why the bloody hell wouldn't he tell me?_ Real food on the island, besides being a treat in itself after a strict diet of tropical fruit and fish, meant that maybe there was peanut butter for Claire.

Charlie felt charged. The new information gave him something to focus on and he was determined to act on it. He bounded up, energized and headed back to the beach in search of Hurley again. When Charlie found him he immediately told Hurley that he knew about the food. He asked him for the peanut butter outright, told him it was for Claire, but Hurley remained obstinate. He was giving nothing away.

Charlie was livid. He stood and looked down at his friend, fists clenched. He needed this, needed some way to reconnect with the people he was closest to but no matter how he tried, he couldn't manage it. Hurley was still brushing him off and now he couldn't help Claire, who was still keeping some secret from him.

Charlie threw some angry words at Hurley before storming off again with no destination in mind, drained by his friend's rejection and powerless to stop it. As if brought in by a homing signal his feet carried him back to the tree in the jungle. His mind was so cluttered he didn't even realize where he was going until he was almost on top of it, but suddenly he wanted to make sure the statue was still there. Charlie frantically uncovered the sleeping statue, picked it up and held it. He felt calmer but not enough. He was still sweating, his breath catching in his throat. The guilt and the temptation competed to see which could eat away at him faster. Charlie closed his eyes to hold in the tears, fell hard against the tree, and felt himself being consumed from the inside out.

Later that night Hurley came by Charlie's campfire and wordlessly dropped a jar of peanut butter into his hand. Charlie accepted the peace offering and on the outside all was forgiven but inside Charlie's trust remained shaken. Hurley was no longer someone Charlie felt he could turn to.

Charlie handed the gift over to Claire with a flourish and was rewarded with a look of pure bliss. It made Charlie forget every insecure thought he had harboured over the past day. If there was even a chance that Claire felt the same way about him that Charlie did about her, he could maybe forget about the heroin he carried. The look in her eyes was enough of a rush. It made him want to give her the moon.

The next day, after the elation of the previous night had faded into memory and the more mundane demands of life beckoned, the familiar itch returned. Charlie wanted another rush, telling himself that even an artificial one would do, although there was truly no substitute for the real thing. He decided to turn his attentions back to Aaron, recalling the infant's ability to calm his jittery nerves.

At night, Charlie began having dreams that he was fixing, snorting powder in the jungle, shooting up on the beach, although he had used needles only rarely in the past. The burn in his nostrils, the prick of the needle and the powerful rush of the drug felt so real he woke himself and checked his arms by the light of a struck match in a panic for fear that he had actually done it. Since he couldn't sleep anyway Charlie began getting up with the baby at night, walking with him while he cried, lulling him back to sleep. It was a gesture he was sure that Claire, like any new mother, would appreciate.

The baby's effect on Charlie was so profound, that he offered to watch him more during the day as well, always under the pretence of assisting Claire. It was an offer that was too good for Claire to refuse and at first she happily accepted without question. In truth, besides helping to take his mind off the heroin, Charlie was eager to make himself indispensable to Claire. Her recent secrecy caused Charlie to fear losing her should she decide he was no longer needed.

The unintentional result of his attentions was that Charlie started to get to know Aaron's behaviour patterns, becoming somewhat of a parenting expert. Having a naturally keen ear for sounds, he quickly learned to distinguish the baby's different types of cries, knowing whether Aaron wanted to be fed, changed or just held. Charlie tried to share what he learned about Aaron's likes and dislikes with Claire but instead of appreciating it, it seemed to bother her.

One day Claire paced with the baby in her arms, frustrated as he wailed, but stubbornly refusing to ask for help. Charlie sat watching, frowned and muttered in a vaguely condescending tone, "He doesn't like to be bounced that way. He prefers rocking."

Claire shot daggers with her eyes at Charlie, insulted that he would presume to know her baby better than she did. Charlie ignored her response and just sat silently, elbows on knees, looking down at the sand through his fingers, and noticed his hands were shaking.

Charlie and Claire carried on through the day, playing house, unspoken tension hovering between them like smog. The situation finally erupted in conflict hours later in the dead of night. Charlie was lying awake when he heard the sound of a woman screaming. He ran to investigate and after talking with Shannon and Sayid, Charlie turned and saw Claire behind him holding a wide awake Aaron in her arms.

"What's he doing up?" he snapped, releasing the pressure that was sealed inside him for an entire day.

Claire had heard the screams as well, but instead of protecting Aaron from whatever might be out there, Charlie was horrified to learn that she had woken the baby up and had brought him toward the sounds of trouble. She had also failed to realize that waking a sleeping baby in the middle of the night meant that he would be awake and cranky all the next day.

Charlie hadn't had a decent night's sleep since first discovering the heroin. Since then every ounce of strength he had was being tapped fighting his addiction. He really didn't want to erupt at Claire, but he couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened. If she was going to act irresponsibly, Charlie felt powerless to keep them safe. He insisted on taking Aaron from her and putting him back to sleep as some form of unspoken admonishment, reclaiming at least the illusion of control.

Charlie knew Claire was annoyed but he didn't care. He felt overwhelmed and needed to hold the baby for his own sake, but this time Charlie found that the baby's presence provided no comfort. Charlie put Aaron down in his crib but could not stop trembling. Claire lay down and went to sleep without a word to him. The atmosphere in the tent was suffocating. Charlie couldn't stand it for another minute, so he grabbed his bag, set off down the beach and sat at the shoreline waiting for the sun to come up. He needed to check on the plane again.

**The Third and Fourth Statues**

Charlie dozed off on the beach, his fatigue overtaking his racing thoughts. When he awoke he was momentarily disoriented until he recalled what had happened and why he wasn't in Claire's tent. The island equivalent of sleeping on the couch, he supposed, only the abrasive mix of rough sand and broken shells crawling up his shirt and in his shoes wasn't nearly as comfortable. Charlie considered heading back to see Claire but he didn't want to deal with it if she was still angry at him. He was still seething a bit himself and preferred to be alone.

He stood and brushed the sand off his jeans, shook the grains from his hair and headed straight for his hiding spot. There was sufficient daylight for Charlie to make his way easily through the jungle. He wanted to forget. Plain and simple, Charlie was fed up. He wanted to forget what had happened and just feel good again. He didn't think it was so unreasonable for a person to be entitled to some happiness. He couldn't keep living from one bad experience to the next. He felt himself weakening with each passing day. He wasn't strong enough for this life.

The admission itself felt like the lifting of a crushing burden from his back. So he wasn't strong enough, where was the sin in that? Everyone needed help once in a while. Some people drank, some people smoked and no one would argue that their situation on the mysterious island of death wasn't pretty bloody horrific. Hell, a little recreational drug use under the circumstances seemed practically normal, certainly understandable.

Charlie reached the tree and unearthed the statue with shaking hands. _God, a hit would feel good right now._ Sitting at the base of the tree he held the statue, undressing it with his eyes like a lover. It was then that he realized that he was kidding himself. This was heroin and it was serious business. There was nothing recreational about it.

He stared at the Mary's face intently as if communicating telepathically, requesting a rush through brainwaves, but Charlie felt nothing. With his most feverish imagination he couldn't muster up a sensation. _Not a bloody tingle._ Maybe it was because half of his mind was still bothered by the way he had behaved with Claire. Charlie began to worry that she might not forgive him. Maybe that was it, he was just distracted, or maybe he needed more.

Charlie put the statue back into its hole. There was nothing for it; he had to go back to the plane. He felt a tightness in his chest and his heart began to pound. _What if something happened to it? What if it's not there any more? _He had to make sure. He felt precarious, as though he were walking a tightrope without a net. He couldn't go on without the sense of security that the heroin had been providing him. Clearly two statues weren't enough. He wouldn't use it, but he had to have enough just in case.

Charlie went back to the plane and as soon as he laid eyes on the mother lode his tension was gone. In its stead was that elusive itch, teasing him in places no fingers could ever reach to scratch. He wanted it so badly. Charlie stepped lightly through the wreckage and picked two statues off the top of a small pile, one for each trembling hand. If something were to happen to this stash, the two statues he already had would never be enough to make him feel safe. He'd feel better with four. Four should do it. He placed the two statues in his bag and, fighting hard to resist the site's magnetic pull on his faculties, turned and headed back to the tree.

When Charlie returned to the hiding place he added the two statues to the one that was in the ground, laying them side by side in a perfect line like soldiers. When he finished Charlie took a deep breath and felt the hair on his arms stand on end as if caught in a cold draft. The elation he felt from just looking at it all told him he had done the right thing. As long as he didn't use it, he hadn't done anything wrong. It just felt good knowing it was there. Just in case.

Charlie returned to the beach calmer, with a renewed strength. He was ready to face Claire. Afternoon was approaching and she usually took a walk on the beach while Charlie watched Aaron. It was a good excuse for popping in at any rate. With any luck, they might both pretend like nothing happened and move on. Denial was also habit forming.

Before crossing the perimeter of their tent he was stopped cold by a sight he never expected to see. Locke was sitting with Claire, holding Aaron in his arms. The older man seemed slightly uncomfortable; stiff like he had never held a baby before, but Claire was encouraging him.

Charlie couldn't decide whether to continue to spy from a distance or to interrupt. Locke's presence was jarring. There was no evidence of the previous night's conflict in Claire's demeanour; she was relaxed, smiling, like she hadn't given it a second thought. Charlie wondered whether Claire told Locke about it. _What was Locke even doing there?_ It didn't make sense.

When Charlie could no longer keep still he peeked out over the clothesline that blocked his path and made his presence known, but to his great disappointment it was Locke that greeted him. Claire's smile faded, appearing mildly perturbed at the interruption. _She's not happy to see me,_ thought Charlie, _she must still be upset._

Then Claire did speak, presenting her words like a challenge. "Hey, John just taught me a new trick, swaddling." Claire was acting more appreciative of that single act than anything Charlie had done to help her since Aaron's birth.

_Oh, how bloody wonderful for you both,_ thought Charlie bitterly, but he swallowed his resentment. "That's excellent. I just came to take him so you could have your walk," hoping to remind Claire that he still served a purpose.

Charlie needed this little moment that Claire and Locke were having to be over. Whether he sensed the tension or not, Locke took the hint and made his excuse to depart. He handed Aaron back into Charlie's custody and stood to leave. Claire couldn't resist thanking him again for his help, and Charlie thought he noticed something pass silently between them.

When he had gone, Charlie looked at Claire, wondering what that whole visit had been about but Claire wasn't offering to enlighten him. Instead she just returned the stare defiantly, with none of the kindness that she had reserved for Locke. "What?" She didn't seem to really want an answer.

Charlie didn't quite know what to say. He had just witnessed another man sweep in and effortlessly take his place. All he knew was that he had just discovered he was not as indispensable as he had thought.

Later that day Charlie was wandering the beach looking for a diversion to keep him away from his stash. When he saw Locke alone setting up his backgammon board in anticipation of an opponent he decided to join him. Charlie was hoping he could find out what he and Claire were talking about. He was surprised when Locke began by practically apologizing for the visit, acknowledging their relationship and concerned about overstepping his bounds.

Charlie saw his opening, assuming by Locke's humility that he would have the upper hand in the conversation. "Did she tell you we had a fight?"

Locke picked up the dice. "She didn't say it was a fight"

_So she did tell him,_ thought Charlie. He supposed Claire must have painted him as pretty unreasonable, daring to question her judgment as a parent. Charlie only wanted the opportunity to defend himself.

"She was going to give it up you know…for adoption. Did she tell you that?" He meant it as proof of her limited experience, justifying his own behaviour, but he realized when he said that it came out sounding petty.

This was fast turning into a battle of wills, but Locke was a fierce competitor. He methodically moved his pieces on the board. "Yeah, when I built the cradle."

Charlie was wounded. He didn't need to be reminded of that, thank you very much. He was already beginning to feel useless where Claire was concerned. He should have backed down, but perhaps the guilt of his own secret caused him to want to punish himself a bit further. "She's got a bit to learn about being a mum…responsibility and all."

Locke looked up in mild surprise before dealing the fatal blow. "Now that's an interesting thing to say…for a heroin addict."

Charlie stared back, caught off guard by the sheer bluntness of the man's words, bringing the carefully choreographed conversation to a screeching halt. Since throwing his last baggie into the fire forty days ago, not a word had been said about Charlie's addiction. It was an unspoken agreement between them that it was in the past, so why was Locke bringing it up now? Charlie was taken aback but he tried to cover for his shock over Locke's ability to see right through him. _How does the geezer do it. __It was as if he knew._

"Recovering addict", Charlie insisted, lamely. Yes, he was struggling, but he hadn't relapsed and he didn't intend to, although Charlie had to admit to himself that he was repressing the urge continuously.

Shannon had been shot and killed by a frightened tail section survivor. Just like that, you could walk into the jungle and never walk out. It could happen to anyone, anytime. Walt had been taken, the raft destroyed. Sawyer had also been shot and was in the hatch possibly dying. As if that weren't enough to rattle a person's sense of security, people have begun seeing things on the island. Before she died, Shannon had claimed to have seen Walt in the jungle more than once, dripping wet and speaking words she couldn't understand.

On his way back from the funeral, Charlie ran into Kate on the jungle path. He started chatting her up casually about the memorial that she missed but then stopped mid-sentence when he realized she was miles away. Charlie looked at her more closely. She looked like she was on her way to the asylum. She was pale, unkempt, wild-eyed and seemed positively off her rocker.

"Do you think there are horses here?" she asked Charlie in a maniacal undertone.

Charlie wasn't sure he heard her correctly. "What?"

Kate looked around her before repeating, "I think I saw a horse in the jungle."

Charlie thought she was joking. She had to be, so he played along. "I've seen polar bears. I've seen monsters. Well, heard monsters, but horses, no."

But instead of delivering a punch line or saying 'fooled you', Kate turned and ran. It was Charlie's turn to be shaken. Kate was one of the toughest, strongest people on the island. She was a fugitive, she could handle a weapon, she faced down danger every day and now she was falling apart like a frightened child. Shannon seeing Walt was one thing; she had always been a bit hysterical but the sight of Kate going mad scared Charlie out of his wits.

After Kate ran off, Charlie's first instinct was to commune with his heroin stash but the thought of going deeper into the jungle at that moment, after two shootings, an abduction and a horse sighting, scared him too much. Claire was still perturbed with him and was starting to act distant, so he decided against going to see Aaron for some comfort. He took his guitar instead and hoped his music would calm him like it used to. He sat and played alone in front of the signal fire, thinking about Kate while his fingers moved mechanically over the strings.

After a short while Jack came by and asked if Charlie had seen Kate. Charlie stopped playing and stood at the sight of him. Jack was out of breath and seemed shaken too, worry lines etching his forehead. He told Jack where he last saw her and that she seemed a bit barmy. Jack didn't look surprised, but just turned to leave. Charlie called after him to ask if everything was okay and although Jack said it was fine, Charlie knew he was lying.

First Hurley, then Claire, then Locke, then Kate, and now Jack-- Just another secret and Charlie was cut out of the loop again, tossed aside. The thought made him angry and he felt the ache of self-pity. He used to know everything important that was going on. He was among the first to discover the cockpit section of the plane, the French woman's distress call, the caves, the fresh water supply, even when Hurley built his golf course. If knowledge was power, these days Charlie felt like a dead battery, wasted and discarded.

He suddenly no longer wanted his guitar, he wanted the heroin. He needed to see it, monsters be damned. His world around him was crumbling to its foundation. People were dying, seeing things, his friends were excluding him, Claire was upset with him and Locke was being just a bit too helpful. In stark contrast to his friends, the heroin had clung to him like ivy and wouldn't let go.

**The Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Statues**

Charlie exhaled in relief when he reached the plane site, proud that he had the strength to make it through the jungle despite the dangers. Looking over his shoulder, jumping at every sound, every shadow, by the time he arrived he was sweating, terrified, but he made it. No gunshots, no horses, no black smoke monster. As he had hoped, the sight of the heroin calmed him, every fear replaced by desire.

This time Charlie decided to take three statues back to his hiding spot. He may have made it this time, but he didn't know when he would have the courage to venture into the jungle again. He'd take three to be safe. If the island was going to hell in a hand basket he wanted to be prepared. He selected three more statues and brought them back to the other three in the hole beneath the tree. The space was getting tight and Charlie had to stack them. The seventh he kept in his bag, wanting it close, like a talisman that could somehow keep evil at bay.

He knelt down and gazed at the six statues and took a deep, cleansing breath, feeling the warmth wash over him. He was glad that he had discovered a way to feel safe without actually using the drugs as he would have done in the past. Charlie considered that real progress. The old Charlie wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now he could do nothing _but_ think about it, it took up every crack and crevice of his mind all the time. Although he knew others might see it as weakness, Charlie was proud of his willpower. Resisting the drugs made him feel strong and powerful. If he could control this he could conquer anything.

Claire had once written in her diary that the island was a scary place but that Charlie made her feel safe. Claire may have had Charlie, but Charlie got scared too sometimes. When he needed to feel safe, all he had was the heroin, and right now its comforting presence felt like the hand of God.

Still seeking out distractions, Charlie decided he'd give Jin a hand with his fishing, maybe he'd even pick up a few pointers himself and become a bit more self-sufficient. Charlie was in a particularly good mood that day. Claire had gotten over their quarrel, the island dangers faded to a bad memory and things were going on much as they were before. They had never talked about it or anything. Denial seemed to be the option they both selected, but it worked for them.

Charlie stood at the shoreline in the bright sun, waves playing at his feet, bouncing to a tune he sang while he played air guitar with the fishing spear. Jin looked at him like he was a complete loon but Charlie didn't care. He hadn't felt this carefree in a long time.

Jin pointed to the fish and told him something in Korean with a stern tone that Charlie didn't understand, so he just made a joke about it. Just then, he noticed Jin look past his shoulder towards the beach. One of the tail section people, a Nigerian man named Eko was speeding towards them with a fierce look.

Charlie didn't have time to wonder what he wanted because the man was upon him in seconds, holding a broken shard of plaster in his hand and pointing it at him accusingly. Charlie's heart stopped. Eko was demanding to know where he found it. Charlie felt as exposed as the statue that the imposing man held.

Charlie sputtered and stammered while his mind raced trying to come up with a story on the fly. "In the jungle…I found it in the jungle" he insisted, trying to keep his story at least consistent with what he had told Claire.

"Take me there," Eko demanded with a look that said his life somehow depended upon it.

Charlie couldn't imagine why Eko would want to be taken there so badly or how he would even know what the statue was when he had seen it intact. He seemed so anxious and determined Charlie suspected that maybe he was an addict too. Maybe he wants the drugs for himself. _Well, they're mine, he can't have them._ Charlie thought of Claire, he thought of the plane but his first priority was to protect the heroin at all costs.

"Okay, fine" Charlie conceded as casually as he could, fighting to keep his voice steady, "Yeah, we'll go for a stroll. There's nothing there. We'll go first thing in the morning, okay?"

No good. Eko wanted to go now. Behaving as if there was not a moment to lose, Charlie was even more convinced that Eko was after a fix.

He tried one last delay tactic, appearing to be as congenial as possible. He was concerned about what Claire must have been thinking at that moment. The thought of losing Claire and the heroin both was too much for him to handle and he wasn't thinking straight.

"Okay. Let me go tell Claire so she doesn't get the wrong idea. Wait here…" he instructed, hoping he could ditch him.

"Tell her on your way." Clearly, this was not going to work.

Charlie supposed he could just say no, but this was a large man who carried a large stick, and there was the possibility he would find it on his own. Given the alternative, if Charlie couldn't divert him away from the stash, he would rather be there when he found it.

Like a man on his way to the gallows, Charlie turned and walked slowly back up the beach toward Claire's tent, hands jammed in his pockets to hide his nervous twitch. As he walked, he tried to suppress his panic further by considering his options. He could tell Claire the truth; that he had been keeping heroin around all this time, around her and the baby. Charlie didn't imagine she would handle that well. He'd have no chance if he told her the truth.

His other option was to lie, pretend he didn't know about it. He didn't like lying to her but at least then he would still have the possibility of getting out of this. It wasn't like he was using but if he told her the truth, she would never believe that.

A drowning man going under for the third time, Charlie grabbed for the only thing he could when he saw Claire cleaning up and tossing out the remains of his broken statue. Charlie couldn't decide what he wanted more at that moment, but he was certain he didn't want to lose Claire. Not over this.

"What happened to the statue?" he asked her in mock innocence.

"Don't play stupid Charlie." Claire held up several bags of heroin. "What's this? Because this was in your little statue, and unless I'm mistaken I seem to remember you saying you were a drug addict."

_She remembered that? Just my sodding luck,_ thought Charlie as Claire brutally shoved the bags into his hand. Lamely, he pressed on with his original plan, trying to convince her that he didn't know what was in the statue, but he hadn't counted on her remembering that small yet crucial admission from his past. She wasn't buying it.

Suddenly the thought of losing her scared him more than anything so Charlie decided a little honesty was in order, but just a little. He swore he wasn't using, which was true. He saw Claire's face warm ever so slightly, but it was quickly overshadowed by the hurt. Desperate to convince her, he mustered all the strength he had, tore open the bags and dumped them out. It was a demonstration of what mattered to him most, surprising even himself. Still he felt everything falling apart when Claire sadly turned away.

Charlie tried everything. He led Eko to the wrong location, he quit and walked away only to be physically dragged back and nearly throttled, he slowed them down taking needless breaks, he pretended to be lost, but in the end they arrived at the plane. Not even a surprise visit from the black smoke could deter Eko.

Turned out Eko wasn't after the heroin at all. One of the dead priests was Eko's brother, of all things. Charlie wasn't even going to begin to try and understand that one. Eko handed Charlie another statue to replace the one he broke, then he set the plane on fire with the body inside. Charlie accepted the statue, fearing it may be the last one he would ever see. He didn't even care if Eko knew.

As they watched the plane burn, Eko declared he was a priest and began reciting the 23rd Psalm. Charlie remembered it well from his Catholic school days. As Eko prayed for comfort over the loss of his brother, Charlie held the single statue and prayed for strength over the loss of his heroin. As painful a sight as it was, witnessing the destruction of his safety net, he was thankful he at least had the foresight to set a few statues aside.

He returned to camp to find Claire packing up his things, tossing them carelessly in a pile several feet away from the tent they shared. The sight destroyed any illusion Charlie might have had that Claire would understand and forgive him.

"You lied to me, Charlie." It was the only explanation Claire apparently felt was necessary. Even angry and holding back tears, Charlie thought she was beautiful.

"I know I did," he conceded, willing to say anything to salvage what he felt slipping through his fingers. "I'm sorry. It's just…it made me feel safer to have it around." It was the God's honest truth, but it had come too late.

"Look, I can't have you around my baby, okay?" Charlie tried to protest but Claire wasn't having it. She told him to leave.

Charlie picked up his bags and turned to look back one last time, hoping to see some regret in her eyes, but she had turned away. She sat and played with Aaron, smiling, angelic, her golden hair glimmering in the sun, pretending he was already gone.

He knew he had let her down, but Charlie thought he at least deserved a little credit for finding all that heroin on the island and resisting it. It didn't matter to Claire whether he had used it or not. The most painful part was that Claire actually thought Charlie was a danger to the baby.

Now the heroin was all he had, his most loyal friend left on the island, and his itch grew more intense. After the destruction of the plane stash, he wouldn't be able to sleep that night until he checked on his private stock one more time. He now realized that carrying one statue around with him had been too risky. Too many people knew what the statues contained.

As much as he hated to part with it, he took the one that Eko had given him and carefully, reverently, he added it to the growing pile. Seven statues in all. Even without the statues at the plane, it was enough to last him many months if he ever decided to use it, but he wouldn't. He didn't need to. He just needed to know it was there.

The next day Charlie spent the afternoon pulling button duty in the hatch with Hurley. It was just another way to keep his mind off his troubles. While they were there, they took advantage of the bunker's esoteric record collection, playing records even Charlie hadn't heard of.

Charlie was still hoping that maybe Claire would come around and realize that she overreacted about the statue. After all they had been through together, Charlie reasoned, she had to have missed his constant presence. He hoped that Locke hadn't managed to completely fill the void he had left behind. He openly wondered about Claire to Hurley, but his friend didn't get it.

"Dude, it's been a day." Hurley voice didn't have a hint of compassion, but in truth Charlie's torment had been going on for much longer than that.

At day's end Charlie left the hatch and returned to the beach, where he saw Locke and Claire together, laughing and playing with Aaron. He felt a surge of jealousy mixed with self-pity. Claire didn't seem to miss him one bit. Charlie wondered if something were to happen to him would she even care.

The very idea gave him a thrill as his thoughts turned self-destructive. Thoughts of the heroin came back stronger than ever. He needed to see the plane again. He hadn't been back since the fire but suddenly he wanted to check and see if any of the statues were spared. What difference would it make anyway when Claire already thought he was using? She didn't care what he did anymore and he felt like hell. He no longer had a reason to resist.

**The Eighth Statue**

Charlie returned to the charred corpse of the plane. The smell of smoke and death still hung acrid in the air. He surveyed the remains of the smoldering funeral pyre with a heavy heart. Blackened statues littered the ground near the cargo hold. Charlie picked one up, soot staining his fingers. Where it once hummed with life in his hands it now felt dead.

Charlie didn't know what he feared more, finding burned empty bags inside or usable heroin in his hands for the first time in months, but he had to know. Charlie took a deep breath and brought the statue down against the wing of the plane, shattering the porcelain easily. His eyes scanned the area. Nothing but ash and bits of melted plastic remained. Suddenly Charlie knew what he dreaded most.

He quickly grabbed another statue and tried the same thing. Again, only the burnt residue of the drugs that once hid there. Charlie felt panic rise up inside him as he tried another statue and then another, each time smashing the plaster figures harder against the hull of the plane in growing frustration. The shards flew into his face, stinging his skin, cutting his hand, but he hardly noticed.

Finally, he forced himself to stop and think. He decided to search the outer perimeter for one that may have escaped the intense heat of the flames. He stepped away from the wreckage and searched the ground. He found two statues several feet from the plane, hidden in the taller grasses. They looked less soiled than the others and Charlie felt a glimmer of hope. He took one back over to the wing and cracked it open.

Four full pristine baggies of heroin spilled out into his hand. Charlie gasped and pulled back in shock, allowing them to fall onto the ground. Although he knew he had been searching for it, now that it was a reality, Charlie didn't trust himself to have it that close. He stood and looked down at the bags, feeling a sensation of déjà vu back to the time when Sayid first threw a statue at his feet. It was as if he had come full circle; doomed to relive this experience over and over again, his own personal hell.

He was afraid to even tear the bags open so instead he quickly picked each one up and threw them as far away as he could. Then he picked up the other intact statue from the grass and took it with him, running away from the site and not looking back.

Despite the eight statues now securely stashed away, Charlie's fears intensified. Sleeping on the beach far from Claire, he began having dreams of Aaron in danger. During his waking hours, he saw Claire and Locke spending more time together. As his anxieties deepened, Charlie's dreams became more vivid and urgent until one night he actually woke up in the ocean holding Aaron.

Claire was furious, but because Charlie had lied about the drugs he wasn't even given the chance to explain that he was sleepwalking. Claire wouldn't have believed him anyway. She already thought he was dangerous. The next day, Charlie swallowed his pride and went to Locke, practically begging for help. All the man did was accuse him of using.

Scared, alone, desperate for an escape, Charlie crept back to the only place he knew where he could find real comfort. He uncovered the eight statues, trying to feel that rush, but he felt nothing but fear, frustration and an intense craving. Maybe if he held it in his hand. He picked up a statue and suddenly the itch was unbearable. Charlie felt an overwhelming desire to get closer. He threw it down and stepped on it quickly before he could stop himself and there it was. Picking up two bags, they felt alive in his hand, pulsing like the chambers of a human heart.

The old Charlie didn't need a reason to have a fix. He just did it because it felt good, because he wanted to. Well, he wanted to now. No one would care; they thought he was already using it anyway. They probably wouldn't care if he overdosed. It might even make things easier for Claire. His life was so out of control that just looking at the drugs no longer helped him feel safe. The ecstasy he experienced when he first picked them up was gone. Charlie thought about how good a hit would make him feel and he smiled. He started to open one of the bags when he heard a voice behind him.

"How long have you been coming out here, Charlie?"

**THE END**


End file.
